


So Hold Me Closely (and Don't Let Me Go)

by giraffewrites



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: (implied) - Freeform, Cuddling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Post-Season/Series 03, Pre-Relationship, Set one year after the events of season 3, The good ol' hurt and comfort post nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:21:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26945095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giraffewrites/pseuds/giraffewrites
Summary: Steve never thought he'd be sharing an apartment with Billy Hargrove at any point in his life. He especially didn't plan to be sharing a bed with him whilst trying to bring him down from a panic attack. But hey... stranger things have happened.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 12
Kudos: 114





	So Hold Me Closely (and Don't Let Me Go)

**Author's Note:**

> *does jazz hands whilst walking in a square* I'm baaaaaaaack!!!
> 
> I haven't written a piece of fanfic I really loved, let alone a Harringrove on for a long time, it feels good to be doing both again.

It doesn’t always happen, but when it does, it tends to start the same way. Steve will be getting something from the kitchen, or perhaps coming in from a late shift at the bar and he’ll hear it. The sound of sharp inhales and small whimpers; the suppression of a cry that’s clawing its way to get out. The first few times it’d happened Steve hadn’t known what to do. He’d only agreed to live with Billy because the rent was cheap and they were on better terms (not friends… but they were ‘okay’ enough with each other to nod to each other if they ran into each other). It wasn’t his business to go and see if Billy was okay. Besides, maybe he was just watching a really sad film…

But Steve’s always been one to follow his curiosity, and when he did, it led him to the edge of Billy’s bed, sitting awkwardly, trying to talk him down from the nearing panic attack.

Now Steve has a system.

The mugs on the counter both read ‘MR’ on them, in blue italic writing. Robin had gifted them to Steve and Billy after buying two mr and mrs sets, but only wanting the ones that read ‘MRS’ on for her and her girlfriend. Perhaps they should’ve been offended, what with being two guys with seemingly suggestive mugs now in their apartment. But mugs are mugs, and truly, neither one of them cares. There are worse things in the world than the suggestion that you’re dating your roommate, and they’ve some experienced them.

Their apartment is far from up to the standards Steve’s parents brought him up in, but it’s more of a home than that house ever was. Sure the walls are an ugly colour and the front door squeaks, still, it’s nice to be able to actually look forward to going home after a long day. There’s a creaky panel of wood by Billy’s bed, always audible when Steve leaves or when Billy occasionally pulls himself out of bed on nights like this. Only, Steve hasn’t heard it tonight, even with the bedroom door cracked open.

Quicker than normal, he adds sugar and milk to the two mugs, turning the tea opaque brown. Careful not to spill any over the sides of the mugs, yet wanting to be in the bedroom already, Steve rushes as quick as he can. He opens the door with his hip.

Usually Billy’s sat up by now, puffy eyed and wobbling chin. But Billy’s still under the covers, sounding better than when Steve had woke up.

Careful not to step on anything scattered across the floor, Steve puts the mugs on the bedside table. He takes one look at Billy, miserable and on the verge of a panic attack, wrapped up under the sheets and thinks fuck it. They’ve crossed enough boundaries that they’re barely a thing anymore. Avoiding stepping on the books covering the wooden flooring, Steve places a hand on either side of Billy’s hips and swings himself over, the mattress dipping down and throwing him back up as the springs pop.

“Hey,” Steve would be shocked at the softness of his own voice if all his attention wasn’t on Billy, “I brought tea.”

The only response he gets is a breathy sob, and that’s when he knows that any boundaries that were still standing are about to get knocked down. Steve pulls the covers up and wastes no time in moving under them, pressing his front to Billy’s back. He’s sweaty and is now sobbing, finally, tears running over his cheeks and jaws, but this doesn’t stop Steve from embracing him. He’s never been very good at making people feel better, but he always knows what to do with his hands, whether it be swinging a bat into a demogoran or styling his hair. The tips of his finger trace over Billy’s chest, his scar rough and branching out over his skin, refusing to be ignored. Billy’s hands make contact with Steve’s hands, but instead of pushing them away, they cling on, holding them there.

Steve can’t see very well under the covers, but he can feel Billy’s chin press into his hand, tears shortly following. He moves his head so his chin is tucked over Billy’s shoulder, the metal of Billy’s earring pressing into his skin. He’s unsure of what to say, and even if he did know, he doubts it would help. He’s seen Billy in some states, but this one might be the worst to date.

He decides to try a technique his favourite nanny used to swear by. Gently, he hums the tune of something he heard in the car when the radio wouldn’t change, something far too delicate and classic for him to know the name of. After managing to get one hand out of Billy’s grips, he runs his fingers through the side of his hair, careful not to pull on any curls.

It doesn’t work straight away, the tears keep running and Billy closes in on himself, knees just below their hands. However eventually, thankfully, he calms down. His bottom chin is shaky and his grip hasn’t weakened on Steve’s hands, but he’s not crying nearly as much any more, and Steve can’t help but be relieved.

“I think our teas are cold,” he whispers, smiling at the small laugh he’s rewarded with.

“Comedy never was your strong point,” Billy replies. His voice is weak and raspy, but Steve will take that over crying.

When Steve moves his head, he can feel an outline of Billy’s earring in his face, which is no surprise given how tightly Steve wrapped himself around Billy. Sitting up causes the bed sheets to fall, and thanks to the sitting beginning to wake and Billy’s torn curtains, the room is provided with enough light for Steve to see Billy. His cheek is puffy and tear stained, the whites of his eye decorated with red vessels. He turns on his back and Steve sees that the other side of his face matches.

“Bad one?”

“Worst so far,” Billy admits, looking up at him. Beads of sweat have caused the front of his hair to stick to his face. Steve wipes them away. Cheeks now puffy and red, Billy thanks him.

“Don’t mention it.” They keep eye contact for a few seconds, before it becomes too much. Now that Billy’s calming down, Steve can feel his own cheeks reddening with realisation. “I- I should go.”

But just as he’s turned his back, the same grip that held his hands not so long ago is back, only this time on his wrist. “Stay.” He hears it, but it’s so quiet, barely there, that Steve could ignore it if he wanted to. He can’t bare to turn around, but the moment Billy’s hands move from his arm, the second he feels Billy turning away from him, he knows what he wants.

“Don’t steal the sheets.” He lays down, moving a pillow over so he can rest his head. “You already hog the couch.”

Instead of a witty reply or a roll of the eyes, Steve’s met by Billy pushing his body into his, once again holding him close. He’s got his head in Steve’s chest and wedges his foot between Steve’s ankle, one hand gripping the back of his t-shirt. Steve meets him back with an arm over his waist and a hand in his hair. He hates to sound like a cheesy romance novel, but he can’t take his eyes off Billy.

He doesn’t know where this is going to end up, but he figures that pressed against one another as the day rolls in is a pretty good place to start.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on twitter @giraffewrites


End file.
